


Nothing Says Happy Holidays Like...

by Lenore



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Advent Calendar Drabble, Alternate Universe, Holiday, M/M, Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-12
Updated: 2006-12-12
Packaged: 2017-10-09 00:18:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/80964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lenore/pseuds/Lenore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Advent 06 Day 19. Down on his luck, John turns to nude male modeling.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing Says Happy Holidays Like...

**Author's Note:**

> Today is my darling [](http://barely-bean.livejournal.com/profile)[**barely_bean**](http://barely-bean.livejournal.com/)'s birthday, and my dear bean, I dedicate this story to you (unless, of course, you prefer not to be associated with it *g*).

Of all the many, many problems with getting kicked out of the military, the fact that John had never given a moment's thought to what else he might do with his life was certainly not the least among them. He was down to his last few bucks, and so far he'd found no ads in the classifieds seeking one slightly bent former Air Force pilot. He'd been forced to cast a wider net, wide enough that "Wanted: Nude Male Models" actually caught his eye.

He called, and they asked some rather embarrassing questions about size, and gave him a time and place to come in for an audition. The day of, he couldn't decide what to wear, and went overboard on the hair gel, and realized about thirty seconds into the thing how utterly pointless this had all been, as a supremely bored-looking woman in her fifties named Marge told him to drop his drawers.

He stared, and Marge shrugged. "What can I say? We need to see your talent before we can book you for the gig."

He took a breath and unbuckled his belt and felt his face turning hot as he pushed his jeans down his legs. Marge craned her neck, giving him a dispassionate once-over, and nodded that he could pull his pants back up.

"What do you know," she said, with an ironic quirk of her mouth. "Your talent actually is as big as you think." She scribbled something on a piece of paper and handed it to him. "Show up where and when it says there. Tell McKay you're a virgin, so he won't be a jerk. He doesn't mind working with new models, but he needs to know up front."

John fiddled with the piece of paper. "This job, is it—"

"Not porn _per se_," Marge said carefully, "but it does involve graphic nudity. If you don't think you're up to it—"

John calculated the back rent and his meager supply of Ramen noodles. "No, no! I'm...good."

"Knock 'em dead, hot stuff," Marge's voice floated after him as he showed himself off.

 

The studio was in a dingy building in the garment district. John took the rickety elevator up to the eighth floor, his palms sweating. A tiny little woman with purple-red dyed hair was waiting for him. "You the talent?"

"John," he said.

"Rona." She gestured with her head toward a door at the end of the hall. "In here."

They walked into a large, empty room, a man at the far end of it adjusting a camera on a tripod. Rona led John into a small dressing room.

"You'll need to fill out these forms." She handed over a clipboard, all business. "One's a release and one's for taxes. When you're done, here's your wardrobe." She thrust a plastic bag at him with something red inside. "There's a screen back there where you can change."

When he got around to donning his costume, he found that Rona had given him a pair of red velvet pants, sewed to look as if the fly had been peeled open, and a Santa hat—that was it. John pulled on the clothes, and his dick hung out of the pants, which he supposed was the point, graphic nudity and all, and he wished, for maybe the gazillioneth time, that he'd been a little more discreet about his sex life when he was back in the service.

"You about done in there?" Rona called out.

"Uh," he added up his utility bills in his head, "yeah."

He walked out from behind the screen and kept his back straight even though his dick and balls were dangling out in front of him. Rona tilted her head. "Good. Those pants fit you perfectly." John didn't think she was making fun of him.

"Where's my model?" An impatient voice shouted from the other room. "Are you drinking on the job again, Rona?"

"Go fuck yourself, McKay!" She hollered back and then plastered on a smile for John. "Don't worry. He's a lot nicer to the talent." She picked up a brush. "Okay. Makeup."

She made rather perfunctory work of his face and then turned her attention to his cock, and when John raised an eyebrow at her, she said with a smirk, "Hey, it is the star of the shoot."

When that was finally done, John made a move toward the door, thinking he was ready to get to work at last, but Rona shook her head. "Call sheet says you need to have an erection in the shot. We're on a tight budget, so sorry, you don't get your choice of fluffer. If you like boys, close your eyes and pretend." There was a pump bottle of lube sitting on the makeup table, John was just noticing it now, and Rona squirted out a liberal handful.

"Um," he stuttered as she reached for him.

"Problem?"

He imagined having to call his father to ask for money. "Uh— no."

John had never had any trouble getting it up, not once, in his entire life. He got it up for boys, for girls—hey, he just liked sex. Only his dick chose this moment to turn into a prima dona and stayed stubbornly uninterested despite Rona's very attentive efforts.

"More like this?" She twisted her wrist on the downstroke, something that never failed to get John going.

Until now.

"Maybe I just—" John struggled for some way to say _I'm not usually this inadequate, I swear_ without sounding quite so pathetic.

"_What _ is taking so long?" The door to the dressing room flung open, and a man loomed there in the doorway, dressed in black pants and a tight-fitting black shirt. "Oh." His sharp blue eyes fastened on John, and John's dick instantly twitched in Rona's hand.

This was lost of no one, and the man lingered, watching, until John was fully erect.

"Good," the man said. "Give him a robe and get him in front of the backdrop." He disappeared.

"I guess you do better when you keep your eyes open and pretend, huh?" Rona handed over the terrycloth. "Leave this on until McKay tells you to take it off. He'll need to adjust the camera and lights before he starts shooting."

It was a relief to cover up, and even though standing around doing nothing usually drove John half insane, today he wasn't complaining. The man finally got the lights set and then the camera focused, and he nodded. "Ready for you now."

Rona came and took the robe, and John's salute had lost a little of its enthusiasm. Rona hurried over, lube in hand, and now that John was under the hot glare of lights, his heart was beating too fast, and his chest felt tight, and even admiring how the photographer's black pants cupped his incredibly gorgeous ass did nothing to get him going.

The photographer nodded to Rona, who hesitated a moment, before heading back to the dressing room. The man approached, and John looked down at the floor. Damn it, he really needed this job.

"Don't worry. I'm not going to molest you," the man sounded amused.

"I'm more concerned about getting fired."

"Relax— What's your name again?"

"John."

"Rodney. So, John, luckily for you, Marge called this morning to tell me you're new at modeling, in case you forgot to. I built some time into the schedule for reassuring the nervous virgin."

"You're a sport," John said dryly.

Rodney grinned. "Not something I hear every day. So, look, it's normal to be nervous the first time out. I can help you with that if you'll let me." His eyes meet John's. "Is it all right if I touch your penis?"

The words alone were enough to make John suck in his breath, his dick suddenly a hell of a lot more willing, and Rodney said with a satisfied smirk, "I'll take that as a yes." His fingers curled around John's shaft, and he stroked lightly. "Did anyone tell you what this picture is for?"

John shook his head, not quite trusting that his voice wouldn't crack.

"Penis enlargement."

"What's with the costume?" John was honestly puzzled.

"Apparently, for some people nothing says happy holidays like a big, hard one." Rodney's voice lowered intimately, "You have what so many, many men can only wish for." He started to move his hand on John's dick. "Just imagine all those men looking at this picture of you, admiring, envying. You like to be looked at, don't you, John?" He circled his thumb around the cockhead. "Like to be touched. You know that old phrase 'making love to the camera'? Well, the truth is that the camera makes love to you. Every click of the shutter, every time the flash goes off, it's like hands, the most sensitive hands, all over your skin."

John was not only hard by the end of this motivational speech, but panting for breath.

Rodney gave him a look of appraisal. "I think we're ready to get started." He returned to the camera. "Just stand naturally." And started to snap pictures.

Being natural was easier said than done when John was so pornographically arranged, and his back went ramrod straight, as if he were still in the military, and his shoulders tensed so much that they were practically brushing his ears.

"Talk to me," he said desperately.

Rodney didn't hesitate, "People are going to get this ad in their email, and they're going to open it, and their mouths are going to drop open at the sight of your luscious cock."

Rodney's voice was like a caress, and John felt his body starting to relax, and he'd honestly never realized before that he was this much of an attention whore.

"That's good, that's good," Rodney encouraged him, the camera clicking away. "Can you thrust your hips forward? Like you're offering me that big, gorgeous cock of yours."

John's skin was buzzing, and he rested his hands on his waist and canted his hips, and Rodney murmured, "Beautiful, you're so beautiful."

That was pretty much it for self-consciousness. Rona returned, and they took the occasional break so she could reapply makeup or fix his hair or blot the sweat from his forehead, but John hardly noticed.

At last Rodney declared. "Okay. Robe."

Rona hurried over with it and told John, "We're probably good, but don't get dressed until McKay gives you the word. There are chairs in the lounge where you can wait."

John took a seat and flipped through an old issue of _Photography_, and when he heard the door pulled open, glanced up and saw Rona leaving. She waved, a bemused smile curving her mouth, and before John could ask where she was going, Rodney was standing in front of him. "So, we're done with the job. I sent everyone else home, but I thought if you were interested in making some money we could take more pictures. They'd just be for me. I'd be the only one who ever saw them."

"What would I have to do?" John asked warily.

Rodney met his gaze unapologetically. "Get yourself off."

John wiped his palms on the terrycloth and didn't look away and was nodding before there had been any real kind of thought process on the subject. He needed the money. That's what he told himself.

Rodney's eyes looked a darker shade of blue. "Give me five minutes. I'll set up the shot."

It took more like ten, and then Rodney called John over, and there was a fluffy white comforter laid across some pillows, a cloud-like nest.

"Lie on your back," Rodney told him. "I'd like to start with some shots with you in the costume."

John's lips quirked.

Rodney shrugged. "What can I say? I'm full of the holiday spirit."

John got comfortable, and Rodney fiddled with the camera, and then it was show time.

"You want to start by touching your chest?" Rodney suggested.

John laid his hand between his nipples, just rested it there for a moment, and then began to explore. Rodney had the camera in his hands, snapping pictures, from farther away and then closer up, circling around, taking shots from all angles.

John started to ease his hand down his belly, and Rodney encouraged him, "Yeah, yeah, give that gorgeous dick some attention."

He trailed his fingertips along his shaft, light and teasing, because Rodney staring at him was possibly the biggest turn-on ever and if he didn't take this slow, he wasn't going to last.

Rodney held the camera away from his face. "Can I get you without the costume?"

Completely nude was different somehow than mostly unclothed, and if the way John's dick reacted was any indication, a hell of a lot hotter.

He started to slip the pants down his hips, but Rodney called out urgently, "Wait! Do that slower." He knelt down, and the camera whirred away as John undressed as deliberately as possible.

"You are so fucking gorgeous," Rodney muttered.

John wrapped his palm around his dick and thrust, seriously into it by now.

Rodney said, "Yeah, yeah, like that. Do you want to open your legs for me?"

Not surprisingly, John found that he did. Rodney was still on his knees, sliding closer, camera pointed at John's face. "I can't wait to see what you look like when you come," Rodney said, sounding so very, very dirty.

John arched his back and pushed up into his fist. He really, really liked a dirty-talking Rodney.

"Do you ever finger yourself?"

John nodded, and Rodney passed him a tube of lube, and John soon had two fingers in his ass and an even tighter grip on his cock. Rodney was kneeling right next to John's shoulder by then, and John could see the erection pressed against the tight fabric of his black pants, and he reached out to cup it. "Do you ever put that camera down?"

Rodney went still, a severe expression that John recognized as lust, and he reached for the camera and put it down himself. The entire afternoon had felt like Rodney was teasing him, and John was all over him in an instant, pulling at his clothes, kissing like he had no intention of ever coming up for air. He threw Rodney's pants and shirt and underwear into a heap beside the discarded costume.

He kissed across Rodney's chest, and worried his nipples, again and again because Rodney gasped so pretty, and then he glanced up, grinning. "Do you like getting your cock sucked?"

"Fuck," Rodney said, teeth clenched, his cock jerking as John took it in hand.

John grinned even wider. "I'm going to take that as a yes."

* * *

It was almost four hours later when they finally peeled themselves up from the floor and got dressed and stumbled out to their cars. They'd done pretty much everything two guys could do to each other. John's own particular favorite had been when he'd fucked Rodney, Rodney's legs draped over his shoulders, Rodney's hands clenched in the comforter, every sensation and want and reaction so perfectly detailed on his face.

In the days following, this was what John tried to concentrate on, the incredibly hot sex they'd had, and not the fact that he'd soon be on display in a million strangers' inboxes.

"They'll blur your face," Rodney had promised him. "They want all the focus on your cock, trust me."

John hadn't really felt all that reassured by this.

He lived in dread of getting his own pornographic spam, and one day, there it was, the XXX ad for penis enlargement...only the picture was of somebody else, blonde and square-bodied, decidedly Scandinavian. He fished Rodney's card out of his jacket pocket, where he'd left it, telling himself he'd just wait a little while to call so he wouldn't look too eager. Or worse yet, desperate.

"The film got ruined," Rodney said in a funny voice when John asked about it. "My mistake."

"I guess you're just kind of careless that way, huh?" John baited him.

"I'll have you know—" Then Rodney went silent and finally he sighed. "Okay, okay, so I'm a greedy, jealous bastard, happy? I don't want every guy in America with a tiny dick drooling all over you. I don't want anyone drooling over you, but me. Is that scary and stalkerish enough for you?"

John considered. "I think it would work better if we were both naked and in bed together and you said it while holding me down and fucking me."

There was a strangled noise on the other end of the line.

"You aren't choking to death, are you?" John was smug.

Rodney snapped, "Shut up and give me your fucking address."

John smiled. "Have I ever mentioned how much I love your filthy mouth?"


End file.
